On My Mind
by omishiloh
Summary: Beatrice can't get Benjamin Cato off her mind and suffers the consequences. A "The Dreamer" fic.
1. The Dream

**On My Mind**

The Dream

_I'm on a football field, green and warm. The sun is shining, and at the opposite end is _Benjamin Cato_, my soulmate!_

_He playfully grins at me, dark eyes sparkling. "I'll catch you," he says, and opens his arms wide._

_I can just _hear_ the music swelling as I race towards him, happy, glowing, and jump…_

…and promptly fall off the bed.

"Ow!"

My only consolation as I pull myself from the floor is that at least the real Ben wasn't a witness.

If only I knew…

* * *

Author's Note: So begins my submission for the FanArtPalooza Contest! It recounts Bea's freak outs mentioned in Issue One, Image Six. Enjoy!

_t.b.c._


	2. The French Fry

**On My Mind**

The French Fry

I am very nearly late to school- no thanks to the ecstatic leap off my bed – and make it to my seat a split second before the bell rings. Yvette, to my right, gives me a thumbs up as I slide in. I smile, before turning my attention to the front of the classroom. It is, in actuality, the only class I like, if only because Mr. Stevens is _not_ difficult on the eye. Not to mention, Mr. Stevens does not teach the class as any of the other history teachers do.

Today he begins it as he usually does.

"What is history? Who makes it? And, why is it important?"

Every day he begins with the same questions, sort of as an introduction. He eventually circles around to the current subject of study. Lately it's been World War II. We discuss answers to his questions, and then do a mini-project, like a page explaining our thoughts, or a group poster.

An easy class, most say, but not when he constantly asks, "What do _you _think?"

Today's assignment was to break into pairs and reason out the effects of the second World War. Naturally, I choose Yvette. From the corner of my eye, I see Liz pair with John.

Curious.

Yvette smirks as me as we turn our desks. "So, Miss Thang, what made you almost late?"

Out of reflex, I blush.

"Uh-huh, just what I thought. You were dreaming about Benjamin Cato, weren't you?"

I meekly nod. But I can't hide my grin.

"Girl, you've _got_ to _say_ something! Especially if you're dreaming about him."

"I can't. What would I say, 'oh hi, I've been dreaming about you, do you like me too'?"

"You've done worse."

I consider this as Yvette rummages for paper. It's true, I _have_ done worse. In eighth grade, I could barely walk past him without running in the opposite direction. In ninth grade, I stalked him obsessively, to the point where I overheard him say, "Do you think the police are after me?" to a teammate. Tenth grade was marginally better- though I didn't stalk him, I found every excuse _to_ talk to him; more often than not, however, it'd come out garbled, and he'd leave in the midst of my trying to straighten my sentences out. Last year I actually said "Hello, how are you?" calmly, and when he had responded, I shrieked so loudly the entire hall turned to stare. This year, I determined, was _going_ to be better.

"Maybe you're right."

"I always am."

"I'll try at lunch."

"Today?" Hey, for once I surprise her. Her eyes widen. "Really?"

"Really," I confirm, and mean it.

oOoOo

Yvette accompanies me through the (long) line. We pick up the usual- sandwich, fries, fruit, and drink- and make our way to a table.

Liz is already there, lucky girl. She packs a lunch, and doesn't have to wait forever in line. She waves as we approach.

Yvette wastes no time. "Bea is going to ask Benjamin out."

"_What?_"

"No!"

Our cries simultaneously reach an octave higher than our normal ranges.

"Are you really?" Liz peers at me through blonde hair.

"No, all I mean to do is tell him how I feel."

"But that's just as well as asking him out!"

'See?' Yvette's smirk indicates.

"Keep a weather eye open, then," Liz says to Yvette. "The minute he comes in, we grab him."

I nearly choke on my drink. Hm, now that I've choked already, maybe it won't happen when I see Ben…in the meantime, however, I beg my friends.

"Don't do that."

"How else are we going to get you to him? You won't do it on your own." As much as I want to protest, I know Yvette's right, _again._

"Fine," I concede. "But you have to leave us alone after that."

"Deal," they promise.

We chew contentedly for the next ten minutes. I eat my sandwich first, though how I'm able to eat, I don't know. My stomach's in butterflies.

"Bing, bing, bing," Liz suddenly mutters.

"Huh?" Yvette is confused.

"Cato alert," she replies impatiently. "Time to go."

I watch surreptitiously as they deposit their trash and stop Ben at the door. It seems to be taking a couple minutes for them to convince him, so I begin on my fries. I idly swirl one in ketchup, and place it in my mouth.

As my glance falls on my friends again, I see Liz lean forward and murmur something to Ben. As a result, he turns and waves.

In my astonishment, I swallow without chewing.

Have you ever heard a goose? It makes a very loud honking noise when distressed. To my ears, and humiliation, that is exactly what I sound like as I desperately try to breathe.

My eyes are watering, and I'm frantically waving back, at Yvette and Liz, and Ben (who looks surprised) to indicate my problem.

Unfortunately, none of them are close enough to give any immediate help. As my vision begins to go dark, I feel a pair of arms go around me and push at my waist.

"Hey!" I protest. Or try, anyway, given that my lack of air doesn't allow me to speak. But the arms continue and the fry, ketchup, spit, and all, comes sailing out of my throat…

…and _splats! _onto Ben's head.

I heave a grateful breath of air, and wipe my eyes. The entire cafeteria stares at me, and I wave feebly, before sinking my head into my hands.

There went my confidence and hope of asking Benjamin Cato out. Or _him_ asking me. Or _any_ contact whatsoever.

_t.b.c. _


	3. The Sweater

**On My Mind**

The Sweater

The next few days pass uneventfully, as I do not actively seek out Ben. I am much too embarrassed by the "French Fry Fiasco" to try. Then, too, football season begins, as well as Drama Club, and I rarely see him.

Drama club is interesting, and for the second year, I am its president. Though last year we held a talent show for the community, this year, I want to try something a little different.

As people file in, I examine my clipboard. It has a list of ideas, should my initial one fail to inspire.

I call for the students to settle, and begin. "This year, as president, I want to try a different kind of drama. We know the stage is a good focus for it, as well as the wide screen. But what about photography?

"Those of you who are involved in Photography Club know that pictures often inspire just as much emotion as a play, or musical, do. So, I challenge you to take that knowledge and share it with the other members as we create stills, that will be exhibited at a show, and also in the yearbook."

Those few in Photography Club nod, and to my surprise, I see the other members look just as interested. Huh- maybe I'm brilliant after all.

"What are stills?" asks a girl, who I recognize to be Beth from my third period. Her companion answers, "They're basically photographs of a group of people, in an active pose- like running from a bear, or dying, or something equally dramatic- taken to make a point or evoke a certain emotion."

Wow. I didn't know anyone outside of me knew what they were.

"Thank you…"

"Lora," she supplies.

"Thank you, Lora, you are _exactly_ right, and I hope the rest of you _paid attention_-" two boys stop murmuring at the back-"so that you can start right away. Break into groups of four, and see what you can create."

The next Club meetings are extremely fun as we experiment with clothing, lighting and background to create the stills. I am roped into a winter-themed still, in the midst of a snowball fight. Its creator, Kristin, informs me that the group's intention is for humor and, she hopes, a recollection of childhood. "It's supposed to make you remember fighting with the neighborhood kids, see?" as she arranges me in a theatrically horrified pose.

I coordinate with the theatre teacher, Mr. Mendel, to use the stage a day before the rest of the school's Picture Days, so that we wouldn't hold them up. As the day approaches, the Club begins to advertise for an exhibition show not long before holiday break.

The Picture Day arrives without incident. I have been so busy that Benjamin Cato has been absolutely removed from my mind. Nor have I been able to talk with Yvette or Liz much, as Kristin has me sitting with her at lunch to discuss her still.

Today, however, she is busy setting up in the auditorium, and I am happily back with my friends. The rest of the members shooed me away before I could help, saying, as a gift to me, they want to surprise me with the complete set-ups.

I am munching away on chicken nuggets when my-Liz and Yvette look at me and chorus, "So, what about Ben?"

I carefully swallow, remembering the _last _time. "What about him?"

Their expressions of near-horror and shock are so amusing I begin to laugh.

"Where is Bea, and what have you done with her?" Liz threatens, with a spoon, taken from Yvette's tray.

"_I'm_ right here, and have done nothing but been involved with Drama Club. Today's Picture Day." I carefully smooth my outfit.

"Explains the sweater, when it's practically seventy," says Yvette, eyeing it. It's a lovely blue, at least in my opinion, and being cold-blooded anyway, I appreciate the extra layer.

"But really, Bea, have you thought about what you're going to do with him?"

"Do? What you mean _do_?"

"Well, aside from the kissing…" Yvette slyly begins, but Liz elbows her. I can't help the blush that spreads across my cheeks.

"I'll tell him. One day. If he'll hear me out. I don't think the French Fry Fiasco attracted him any…" I stare mournfully at my chocolate milk.

Yvette and Liz both laugh. "'French Fry Fiasco'?"

"What?" I say defensively. "At least it's alliterative."

"Too much English class," whispers Liz.

I whack her with my own spoon.

"Or Drama Club," Yvette agrees.

I whack her, too.

"In any case, decide quick, because here he comes," Yvette says, rubbing at her wounded arm (I didn't hit her _that _hard…).

I turn around, and gasp. Benjamin Cato is wearing a beautiful three- piece suit that brilliantly fits him. I wonder at the formality, until Liz answers, "Duh, a game, today."

Oh, right. Tradition has it that the first principal ordered the first football team to dress up for good luck, as his previous school did (that team won the championships). Ever since then, every athletic event has the team members dressed well the day of the game, or signing, or whatever.

He almost catches my eyes as I stare, and I whip back around to face my friends. With shaking hands, I pick up my chocolate milk and drink, if only to quench my suddenly dry throat.

I hear footsteps, and look up to see him say, "Hey, there" as he approaches. I am so delighted that he can still speak to me after the Fiasco that I gasp with delight. I did not realize that I still had chocolate milk inside my mouth, so it goes up and out my nose.

I snort it _everywhere_; on the table, on my tray, my sweater, even a bit on Yvette and Liz, who fall over themselves with laughter.

"Ohmigosh, I'm so sorry!" I say, hurriedly reaching for the napkins.

Both girls wave me away, indicating my sweater.

I look down and groan. _Oh, no…._

The lovely, light blue of the sweater is rapidly fading to a murky unidentifiable color as the milk soaks in. Rubbing at it with napkins only made the flimsy thing stick to it in pieces.

Kristin was going to absolutely _murder _me.

_t.b.c._


	4. The Fall

**On My Mind**

The Fall

Kristin did murder me, in a drastic change of stills. If I recall correctly, I think one of the photography students, Kacey, was able to capture the moment.

Like last time, I decide to lie low. When would I ever be able to encounter Ben without making a fool of myself?

And thanks to the "Chocolate Milk Shower", I had Ben on my mind almost constantly. _Does he think me a complete idiot? What if he does? Will he talk to me again? What if I really stopped him from talking to me? I'll never date him now!_

Fortunately, Yvette and Liz, though they find the incident funny, sympathize and daily remind me of the fact that it could be worse.

"Oh, how could it possibly be worse?" I ask, picking at my salad. The lettuce is too limp, and I swear something just crawled out of it.

"I've fallen out of bed dreaming about him-"

"-just _what_ were you dreaming? " Liz drops her soda can with a _clang_.

I ignore her.

"-choked on a French fry, _and_ gave him a Chocolate Milk Shower."

"Where are you getting these names?" Yvette wonders, shaking her head. "Never mind… you haven't done the worst, though. You haven't _fallen_ for him."

"Huh? Yes, I have. He's on my mind _every single day,_ and didn't I just tell you I fell out of bed?" I continue to pick at my salad. It really looks unappetizing. The cheese has suspicious spots on it, and the crackers seem to have been nibbled on…when I haven't eaten anything yet.

Liz shakes her head, too. "You poor girl, so clueless. Yvette means that you haven't tripped yet in talking to him. If anything else, you have a good sense of balance."

I reflect. "You're right! I haven't! Must be all those years on the stage." I happily begin to sip chocolate milk. Mm, I like my chocolate.

"You sure do," my friends snicker. Oops, I said that aloud.

Lunch passes quickly, and soon I'm gathering my tray to take it to the trash. I'm halfway out of my seat when I hear, "Bea?"

I turn to see Benjamin Cato right behind me.

"Hi!" I squeak, leaning against the table for support.

He looks at me strangely before continuing. "Would you be in my study group? I heard you were good at math, and I really would appreciate your help…"

I didn't hear anything beyond, "Would you be". I immediately lose myself in a daydream of a wedding; I'm in a white, flowing gown, Ben's wearing his suit, and we are happy, so incredibly _happy, _as doves are released above our heads as we climb into a carriage-

"Bea? Bea!"

I am so startled that I tip sideways, straight into Sissy Benson.

Carissa "Sissy" Benson, tallest volleyball player, and the toughest. She's got an attitude that has miraculously not landed her in the principal's office (if it were me, I'd be suspended…). It has something to do with the fact that her parents chair the School Board, and both of _them _have just as much touchiness. Anyone that does her wrong ends tied up in a potato sack.

If I would be so lucky.

I tip sideways, into Sissy, who herself falls, twisting, to the ground. Her tray avoids her – how does she have all the luck? - while I don't.

I find myself staring in the Eyes of Doom.

Cissy roughly shoves me off, and my shoulder blade slams into the corner of the table. _That's going to leave a mark._

Wincing, I use the table to pull myself up, to meet Ben's, Yvette's, and Liz's wide-eyed shock.

I turn to see what they're looking at.

Cissy is struggling to get up. She manages to get her right leg up, but when she tries to stand on her left as well, it collapses beneath her.

I am _so _dead.

This is the week of the play-offs.

And if I'm not mistaken, Cissy twisted her ankle, if not broke it.

I've doomed the team.

And myself, because she takes my hand, pulls me to her, and furiously enunciates-

"You. Are. Dead."

I swear I saw skulls in her eyes, though the statement alone confirms my self-pronounced death sentence.

Ben kindly helps her up, and leads her, presumably, to the nurse's office.

I meekly gather my trash, throw it away, and slink to class. Yvette and Liz accompany me with the statements, "Scratch that, you _have_ fallen. And hard!"

"Have a nice _trip, _see you next _fall_!" There are moments when I love my best friends. And there are moments when I want to kill them. Though, considering my own fate, I don't know that I'll have the opportunity.

It has grown _impossibly _worse.

_t.b.c _


	5. The Kiss

**On My Mind**

The Kiss

I go to bed that night feeling somewhat miserable. Perhaps I should skip the rest of the week, and claim a sudden bout of chicken pox. Though the Nurse would know I'm lying, since I actually had it freshman year.

It can come back, can't it?

I mumble to myself as I brush my teeth- I couldn't sleep unless I did brush them, a habit Mom instilled- and change into pajamas. My bed offers comfort and security from the mad Sissy Benson, and I climb into it gratefully.

Moments later, I'm asleep.

_A warm body._

_Strong arms._

_What feels like a jacket._

It must be Ben_, I figure, recalling his suit._

_But it is not._

_Instead, it is a blond, young man who is holding my close, gently kissing me. It is an unfamiliar red coat he is wearing that rubs against my chest. I idly push thoughts aside of itchiness, as the kiss deepens. Sturdy hands run through my hair, and caress my shoulders._

_We break apart._

_Big brown eyes focus on my face, almost hungrily._

_And then he speaks._

"_Beatrice…I thought you were dead."_

_I can only stare- _got to break that habit, a little voice says-_as I know I'm very much alive._

I wake suddenly, though my alarm has not yet gone off.

All I can think of is the dream. The past month or so, and all my embarrassment within, is utterly gone. The intensity of the dream drove it all away. It is all I can do to breathe.

"Woah."

* * *

Author's Note: There you have it! I hope I stayed true to the characters, though it seems Liz and Yvette are a little off. Poor Bea, so preoccupied…I share her embarrassment, as I've experienced a few moments of my own.

Thanks for reading!

_Finis._


End file.
